In Wolf's Pelt
by Motionless Quill
Summary: Meet Veronica Williams, a Seelengut who is not what you'd expect. After losing her father and brother to a rogue group of Blutbad, she begins her vendetta to end their tyranny and show that the prey can become the predator. But is this group, called the PACK, on their own, or part of a bigger, more threatening movement that challenges the peace between all walks of life?
1. Chapter 1: Product of the Farm

**In Wolf's Pelt**

**Chapter 1: Product of the Farm**

Over the years, I have acquired many nicknames across my vendetta quest. None, of which, are true. I've gotten _Deadpan Darla_, _Sheepy_, and don't even get me started on _Turncoat Tits._

I am reluctant to even share my true identity, but it must be done for someone has to know what really happened, what justifies my killings. What justifies everything.  
My name is Veronica Williams, and I used to be your typical run-of-the-mill country cutie who was innocent as hell and did everything I was told. And I was obsessed with church, which was reasonable, given that my father was the Reverend of our parish.

We lived in a town called Pinewood, in the north most portion of Oregon that pretty much resided on one of the largest clearings in the state. Everywhere else was pretty much covered in trees and ferns.

Pinewood consisted of one massive church in the middle, a few blocks from the smaller City Hall, with hundreds of small businesses and houses that snaked out from there. Pretty much the entire social lives of the town revolved around the church, and if you weren't a member before, you probably would be by the end of the year.

My family and I, who consisted of three other siblings beside me, lived pretty much on the edges of the town, and our only connection to it was two roads. These roads were key to keeping the peace between the synonymous relationship between the _Blutbad_ and the other _Seelengut's_ of the town (that was pretty much the mass population species…besides a few human or other Wesen families).

One road that cuts north, which was the quicker way and cut through the deep patch of forest separating us from the town, was made of nice pavement and was kept very well. This road was absolutely forbidden for _Seelengut_ use. Under no circumstances could we walk, drive, or even look at it. The reason for this was that down that road, somewhere along the side, resides an old factory building transformed into the _PACK_'s base. I have never seen it before in my entire life, as most have, but I hear it looked ghoulish on the outside, but a complete dream on the inside. I know now that's pretty much the truth, but that's way in the future and all the beauty hides a lot of ugly.

The second road, that cuts east and slowly curves north to town, was horribly managed. It was pretty much a dirt road driving through fields and cow pastures. If it were to rain, the road melted into mud that could not be driven through, lest you'd like to crash. If it were to snow, the soil was noted for freezing all the way through and causing some ice shards to form that were so strong, they've been said to rip through tires easily.

It was 6am, and my father was still home. He was a very nervous, twitchy guy but also a grand speaker and never did anything to upset anyone. He usually was gone before I wake up, which was unusually early for a kid my age, and already be a small portion of the way to work.

But that day, however, he was still home and running around, forgetting things everywhere right as he needed them most.

"Oh, the papers! Where…oh, there they are, ha. But what about the briefcase…?" I watched him intently as he ran about the house, his worry aura beginning to affect me.

"Daddy…ain't you supposed to be at church now?" The earliest seminar was at 6:30am, which was inching closer and closer at this point.

He stopped momentarily to look at me, the terror in his eyes momentarily melting away. He kneeled down, and took my face gently into his soft hands. "Now listen, baby girl, I'll get there when I get there. If I'm late, then so be it. It's His word, you know."

I nodded, stepping back and helping him finish up. "Well, you best hurry, cause the guy on the TV said that it was gonna rain…"

As if on cue, a thunderous roar shook the house, and rain began to pour down heavily.

"Oops." I stated, as if the rain were my fault.

My father, on the other hand, looked as if he were about to pass out. He was so terrified, that he woge'd and became the fluffy, furry-faced _Seelengut_ he truly was.

"Ohh, not today! Not today!" He wailed, twitching his head back to revert to his human form.

I peered outside the kitchen window to get a better view. Sure enough, our usual dirt road was nothing but a mudslide and thusly rendered completely useless.

He started for a moment outside, his mind racing to come up with any solution that could save his life: get in a car accident on the mud road or get murdered on the nice road. He must've believed that no harm would come since he was under God's protection, and no sooner had he gotten in the car was he driving along the road into the Blood-Red Woods, called that for its gruesome history of murders. He probably believed that if he drove fast enough, they couldn't catch him.

That was the last time I ever saw or spoke to him.

...

Days later our house was the subject of news stories and police cars. These people traveled from far around this time, with detectives from cities away, to document the 50th murder in those woods.

When they questioned us, my family was too afraid to answer. Afraid they'd strike a nerve and get themselves killed too. Something that day, with the news of daddy's death, changed in me. Something that drove me to explain the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, or so God help me.

When it was my turn to be questioned, the look on my face told the officers that I was more willing to speak than anyone else in the room. And speak I did.

Both cops were, thankfully, Wesen and a lot more understanding to my situation. I told them of the tyranny of the notorious group known as the _PACK_, how they held a firm grip on this town and had roots so deep and secret, that speaking of it meant harm to befall one. I told them that the Blood-Red Woods were designated _PACK_ territory and as soon as my father set foot in there, he was a dead man.

Though not much was done about the case, given the _PACK_ has deep roots and can practically hide anything, I got about two things out of it. One good, and the other bad.

The only item they could recover from the body was my daddy's silver cross necklace, with the initials _V.C.W. _on the back, standing for my daddy's name, Victor Charleston Williams. Later I had discovered that it was by some strange fate our initials matched, mine being Veronica Celia Williams. To this day I have never taken off that necklace, lest I'm offered a pretty good damn reason for it.

The bad side is what brings us to the present, a time of unrest and constant motion. Though the investigators did not release the name of the person (me) who gave up information, it was very clear that I had done it.

I need to backtrack a bit to explain why this upcoming event caused me emotional trauma, extreme paranoia, and trust issues. Here goes…

Growing up, I had an older brother who I pretty much followed around everywhere, did everything with, and would never let him be. His name was Anderson.

We were just a year or two apart, but it seemed as though we were twins. We both had our slightly upturned noses splashed with freckles, and chocolate brown locks. The only difference was our eyes. His were hazel, light green speckled with brown, and mine a brilliant blue color often compared to sapphire's.

One day after church, a few men approached out mother and pulled her aside. I watched as she began to break down in tears, appearing to beg them for a different option of sorts. She began to make a scene, and after a harsh mutter of words, the two men were gone.

Later that night, while Anderson and I were explaining the concept of ghosts to the baby of the family, Maribel, my mother came in with a stern look on her face.

"Anderson, c'mon sweety, we have to go now." She whispered, trying hard not to sound fearful.

"Why? Where are we going?" He stood, and took my mother's outstretched hand without hesitation.

She glanced at me once, and the look in her eyes I never forgot. It was boiling anger, regret, fear, and sorrow all mixed in one. I had never once believed such a combination could ever appear in human—or Wesen in our case—eyes.

She looked away, and began to lead him out to the car. "To repay our dues."

As you can guess, I never saw Anderson again.

After that, I became an outsider of the flock. Nobody dared speak or acknowledge I was there. I was an omen of death after Anderson had vanished, something I never forgave my mother or myself for.

And so leads me here to the present, a twenty-two year old girl alone in the world with a vendetta to avenge my father and my brother someday soon.

You better watch out, _PACK_ members, because I'm coming for you.

And I'm not happy.

((This was meant to be submitted weeks ago, when Season 3 started. But I kinda chickened out, sorry. If you liked _Plucked_, you'll love this, I guarantee it. Do you think this'll only go for a few chapters? Don't believe it, because I've already got EIGHT chapters done, with the ninth under way :3 Don't give up on me yet! Veronica Williams, Pinewood, mentioned family, and plot belong to me. The world of Grimm and it's creatures belong to the creators, who I love for making such a fantastic show. Don't take my word for it, though. I'm biased to love it xD Enjoy, you Grimmlins.))

((Quick side note...this was originally supposed to be in present tense only, but I get annoyed with present tense, and launched a major edit to get rid of it. Some parts are purposely present tense, while some are simply accidental. Feel free to point them out, and I'll get on with new edits :3))


	2. Chapter 2: The Games We Play

**Chapter 2: The Games We Play**

Life to me is like a game. You had to play by certain rules (the laws) that match up to certain places (laws vary state-to-state, you know). There are boundaries that can or can't be crossed, and places yet unknown to all those who pass.

I guess you can say the game I play is pretty dangerous.

The night I began the game started, as always, very unexpectedly…

And of course it had to land on what was supposed to be Anderson's 21st birthday, a day we surely would've gotten wasted on, had he not been gone.

I began this yearly ritual where I'd bake a square cake, the dimensions matching up with the number of years he has been gone (in this case, seven) in inches, and eat the entire thing myself, lest someone else came across me just after it was frosted. You could compare it to a sick, demented act of eating away another year without him. But when there's cake involved, how could it possibly be bad?

My mom got home very late that evening, and the years had taken their toll.

Her once lovely auburn hair was now a pale orange color with gray streaks everywhere. Her splendor was fleeting, leaving past signs of a beautiful face beneath so many wrinkles. It was as if she wasted away after daddy died.

I was at the counter, eating away at the cake I had baked hours before. I was sick to my stomach, but my overall numbness caused the fork to continue to feed me cake.

"You get home so late…" I remarked, lazily looking over at her. "What on earth are you doing out there all day long?"

There was a quick mask to cover a coat of shame, and she gave me a weary smile. "Trying to sustain us, darling. What else for?" She had grocery bags with her, none of which I offered to help with.

"For seven years I have sat by, silent about a question that has haunted me for a long time. You know me asking is inevitable, but your answer…" I trailed off, watching a flash of tension and fear show through.

"Ah, well…" She didn't know what to say, and she had a good reason.

"I'll ask only once: What happened to my brother, Darlene?" My mother cringed at her real name, obviously hurt by my neglect in calling her mom.

I had begun it about two years back, when I had lost all faith in my own mother. She felt nor acted like one, and thusly became an indifferent person to me. Like a lost relative I never knew or cared about much for.

"He…he, uh, ran away. As I have told you countless times…" She continued, not even having the courage to look at me. Her emotional discomfort was shining through, and her brown eyes were replaced by the generic female Wesen ones, brilliant blue with rectangular pupils.

"A likely story. Anderson had nothing to go to, and everything to leave behind." I chuckled slightly, the cake seeming like a distant concept now. "And even you know that's true."

Darlene can't mask her feelings very well, and it was clear by the look on her face what I had said was, well, true. "I had to!" She erupted suddenly, unable to control her woge, and becoming her true form. "They demanded something in return for what you had done…" She fixated a harsh gaze on me, her grief turning to anger. "And it's your fault, too! If you hadn't started a problem, and blabbed away…then they wouldn't have taken him!"

I stared back at her, stunned. She had given my brother to an unstable gang of killers, just to satisfy their petty needs and to make an example? And she even had the audacity to blame me for it, too!  
"_My_ fault? Hardly!" I stood, approaching her with a newfound rage. "The problem was already here, I just happened to be the one to actually tell the truth! And not even you, the Reverend's wife, can do that."

In one swift movement, my mother's hand harshly befell my face, leaving a red welt when it had made contact.

We both seemed stunned by this, stepping back to survey our points of pain. My face to me, her hand to her.

Something then and there just…snapped. I was flowing with a new confidence and hope, to avenge my brother and my father. None of which Darlene had even dared to do.

I ran away from home that night, and around my neck, beating against my chest, was a silver chain.

And at the end of it, was a silver cross. And this time, it had a new scratch on it.

...

"Ma'am? Ma'am, this is our last stop." The pitch of her voice threw me out of my short period of rest. For just a moment, where I was and why fleeted like a frightened deer.

It's no surprise that I was, once more, on an underground wanted list in yet another town. In past months I've gone up in value by thousands of dollars. And likewise thwarted many attempts to bring me in, dead or alive.

I was pretty much following a new lead on the next major _PACK_ headquarters, as the last one tragically perished in a gas explosion. Investigators are still finding alarming evidence on what really went on inside that old warehouse (a common and lame base, they need to expand more).

The tip had come from…not so reliable sources, none of which I can disclose to simply anyone. Despite my newfound extreme acts to bring justice, there were innocents I had to take account for.

I mentioned before that life is like a game; for me, it's one of cat-and-mouse. Who's chasing who. Regardless of who knew what, the role of each party is still unknown. They switch so often, that it's impossible to consider who is who. Thinking of something like that is playing cat-and-mouse with your mind.

And we all know who'd win.

...

The last stop was, needless to say, like walking into a mine field. I have heard so many rumors of this town, named probably after how it got its wealth. _Portland_.

I looked around casually, surveying this fabled land of ports. Even if it was still midnight, a few weary travelers continued to pour from the train, thinning out quickly and quietly as they headed towards the closest thing they had to home around here, wherever it may be.

I was here, however, strictly for business…and to perhaps cash in on a favor.

As I ventured briskly through the nighttime streets, where bars became alive with people and neon lights flickering at ever corner, my mind recalled stories told about this place.

Of a _Seltenvogel_ who recently laid her precious egg, only to have it broken. Of a Grimm who poses more a threat to the Royals than the neighboring Wesen. Of even a rare sighting of a _Glühenvolk_ and his mate, who terrorized pasture after pasture of cows. Even so, I find it justified.

I secretly hoped to stumble upon these Wesen anomalies, to see it all for myself and to finally put fiction to fact.

I shook my head, reminding myself of the task at hand. _Find Marcus. Punch him in the face. Get him to tell me what I need to know._

And my first stop was, no surprise here, a bar.

...

Marcus Reinhardt is a _Dämonfeuer_. Aside from the fact that he is a complete jerk and also wanted by many Wesen groups, he is easily manipulated into doings deeds, so long as they are convincing enough in terms that he can restore his honor, long ago lost.

That, however, is another tale.

He is also a notorious liar, thief, and incredibly charismatic. Which makes him invaluable to situations that require a lot of talking or stealing (even if most of the stealing was copper items). With the right listener, he can pretty much get away with anything. He can make the worst of crimes look like nothing. Which is exactly what I need.

The first time we met was under…strange circumstances. It was maybe a year or so ago, and I was fleeing from not-so-friendly cops, who shouted warnings to halt or be shot.

I was running through a junk yard, and at the edge of a massive scrap metal pile, digging around in the heap for copper, was Marcus.

For a _Dämonfeuer_, he was rather thin and lithe rather than the generic big and bulky for the males. Just by looking into his eyes you could tell he had seen many horrors of the world, and perhaps he had joined the army at one point (for a _Dämonfeuer_, it wasn't unlikely), but probably skipped out in the end. His dirt brown hair still retained the buzz-cut of the army, however, and it was there that I noticed his eyebrows always seemed to make him look disdainful and grumpy at the same time.

As I got close, he woge'd and growled at me. "What are you doin' here?!" But quickly his hostility became the familiar sense to run, and he was running behind me soon enough, trying to evade the cops.

"Oy! What did you do to make them so mad?!" He called after me, his brown eyes nearly black in the dark of the night that bulged out ever so slightly, as if he was amazed by everything.

I glanced back for just a moment, smiling ever so faintly. "I killed a man."

He said no more after that, and the look on his face moments after I said it stays with me to this day: how a pretty girl like me could ever do something so heartless.

It was perhaps that my heart was gone, torn out when I lost the only two people in this world who I could possibly care about.

And by the end of the chase, he believed me.

Because, like me, he was hurt and alone. We both sought revenge for those who have wronged us.

((Next update: Friday, November 22. I don't have much to say about this chapter, except I think it might be a little shorter...or it's just me, I dunno xD And I already have ten chapters done, ha! I need a break, ugh. I hope you all watch the new Grimm tonight...and then finishing off your wonderful evening with reading my story xD I can dream x) This episode especially has be excited, because I love mermaids. I often wish I could be a mermaid xD If I love this _Naiad_ as much as I hope, maybe I'll write a story about one...we'll see ;) ))


	3. Chapter 3: Tales From A Liar

**Chapter 3: Tales From A Liar**

When I arrived at the bar, a Wesen one called the _Fire Pit_, that I knew he'd be drinking at, the only thing I could make out was this: bar fight.

I'm not surprised to learn he started it, and was throwing punches while in Wesen form, using it both as protection from attackers and to intimidate foes.

Everyone became so engrossed in the fight, that I needed no ID to get in, they were so distracted. It's gratifying to not have people ask who you are every five seconds.

Dressed completely in dark clothing, it took some time for him to distinguish me apart from the dark background, and when he did, he looked shocked and almost relieved to see me. That minor distraction, however, caused him to lower his guard and slowly begin to lose the fight against a _Klaustreich_.

"A little help, please!..." Marcus gasped, before having a fist slam into his gut, where he lost his breath completely.

I rolled my eyes, but stepped forward. Clearly, I had to do everything around here.

Letting my fleecy form take control, I approached the _Klaustreich_ with such confidence, that even he looked frightened.

"Oh, the little sheepy is going to teach me a lesson, eh?" The man nervously chuckled, not long before I had him on his knees with one swift punch.

"It appears I have." I whispered, pulling the drunken Marcus to his feet. "C'mon, let's get you home."

...

After mumbling his address, Marcus fell unconscious, at which point I had to carry him. "You haven't gotten any lighter since that raid on Watermore, you know…" He obviously didn't hear my complaint.

I struggled through nine blocks, and upon arrival, the need to run became evident.

His living quarters never changed, and it was still his mother's old house, to my amazement. In the past, we had both landed here after crazy events, healing up to proceed to the next step of our master plans. And for some bizarre reason, he still lived here.

"Muhhh…" Marcus began to stir slightly, and I quickly got him inside. Don't tell him that I kinda stole the key in his pocket to unlock the door, and that I kept it. I have my reasons.

Within minutes I had him on his couch, and gently dabbed his bloody face to clean it up. Seeing him now, I suppose he can be exempt from my small revenge. Though he most certainly owes me one now.

"Wha…What happened?" He mumbled, trying to rise, but failing in the effort.

"Another one of your drunken fights, I suppose. You really need to control yourself, Marcus." Thankfully, he didn't appear to need any stitches from those punches, so once I scrubbed his face clean, I kept my distance. "Do you know why I'm here?"

He sat up, rubbing his head and flinching from pain. "For a moment, back at the bar, I thought you were going to punch me instead of the _Klaustreich_. No, I was absolutely convinced of it. After all, I kinda…"

"Past is past." I cut in, trying to dodge the thoughts of the precedent. "Just be thankful I didn't. Now answer my question, Marcus." I sat down beside him quietly, hoping my harsh gaze would convince him otherwise.

He broke under my stare. "You're here because…I've got some information about the _PACK_ base in Portland. It's whereabouts, who's working there, etcetera." He spoke as if it were all nonchalant, like none of it mattered.

I smiled; I was glad he could catch on so quickly. "Precisely. And considering that you kinda owe me one…you had better not spare a detail."

He nodded. "I won't spare a single thing, I promise you that." I know he is a thief and a liar, but just the way he promised to it sounded genuine. Like there was a bitter tenderness to it, like he wanted this to fix everything. Which was something it could not.

"Alright, listen closely, because this will take some time…"

The base is, actually, an egg processing unit, for whatever reason. Its cover is as such, and they also have a notorious streak of capturing _Seltenvogel_ and getting them to produce their _Unbezahlbar_, sooner or later.

The _PACK_ base is actually below the factory itself, in a weird, complex system of underground rooms and hallways that go far deeper than they sound. It is here that thousands of valuable documents that could pin these people on thousands of country-wide crimes, getting them exposed and behind bars. Or dead, if I happen to be pissed off at the time of confrontation.

It is said the location used to serve as a navy base, and that most walls are very thick and every door is like one of a submarine, so it can withstand thousands of pounds of pressure and whatever else nature wishes to throw upon it. Which means getting in and out will be a major problem.

"They also hold enemies of the _PACK_ there. Mostly deserters and anyone who had the unfortunate experience to kill a member. As they say, once in, never out." I couldn't shake the feeling, however, that this wasn't exactly the truth. Or perhaps it wasn't the full story. Whatever the case, he shut up, and took an earnest swig from his cup, appearing to be drunker than before. I had promised a glass of vodka, when all I really gave him was water.

I nodded; absorbing every fact. "Meaning that if I want to get out with a distraction, releasing the prisoners would be a splendid idea, hmm?"

Marcus chuckled, finishing off his glass. "Ah, you never cease to amaze me, Veronica. But may I remind you that perhaps those you free might be better off in a cage? They're there for a reason, you know." He paused, staring at his glass. "Did you give me…water?"

I stood, purposely neglecting his last question. "I know, and that reason probably came with the side effect of them hating who put them in there. Freeing them would more than likely cause them to attack those keeping them in the cage."

I couldn't see him, but I could feel his eyes boring into me, trying to figure out if I was a genius, or simply raving mad. He probably agreed on both. "Hm, clever girl. Looks like you got it all figured out, eh? I guess my help isn't necessary anymore…" He stood, attempting to shoo me from his house.

"Oh, no, I'm not through with you!" I dug my feet into the carpet, preventing him from banishing me any further. "You promised a full, truthful story. And you haven't told it yet."

I turned my head to look at him, and the look on his face was priceless. It was shock and admiration and jealously all rolled into one.

"Well, uh…sometimes the truth isn't what you need. You want it, but it'll be bad for you, trust me. Knowing too much is considered bad, you know…" Marcus began to inch back as I pressed forward, my intimidation starting to absorb in. His face began to bead with sweat, his eyes darting around to avoid mine.

"Well?" I hissed, cornering him.

"Alright, alright! You got me!" He cried, pushing me back slightly. "Space, please. And don't tell anyone about this, if they heard a Seelengut scared the living crap out of a Dämonfeuer, I will never be let down for it."

"Get on with it; else I'll make sure a lot of people know where you live…"

He straightened, fixing his coat. "Fine, fine. You once told me they killed your brother, right?"

I glowered, making it quite clear he had pushed it. "Go on."

"Well, that isn't necessarily true…"

It felt like someone had suddenly grasped my lungs, squeezing all the air out with one quick movement, and then proceeded to pound me in the head with one swift hit. I had become so emotionally unstable that moment, that I felt myself woge, turning into a somewhat cute and wooly _Seelengut_.

"Wh…What do you mean?" I gushed, trying very hard not to cry.

Marcus stared at me, his tone taking on a very gentle side. "Your brother isn't dead, Veronica."

((Sorry for a late chapter, I completely forgot to upload it yesterday xD Well, it's up now anyway, isn't it? And from here it picks up, and I'm on chapter 11 right now...and I kinda wrote part of ch12 as well, because I couldn't wait for that xD Enjoy, I suppose...it's not like anyone reads this, ha...))


	4. Chapter 4: Church Folk

**Chapter 4: Church Folk**

Five minutes.

In retrospect, it is such a lacking amount of time that it drifted by silently and laughed at those it had fooled. For me, five minutes was a different story.

It took me five minutes once to kill a man, a _Jägerbar_, though the fight had seemed endless. He had brute strength and threw his massive body around sloppily, unable to really hit anything but what he didn't want to. It made him look as though he ran on a different time, in a world slightly slower than our own.

He threw wide and hard punches that never hit their intended target, for I was too fast. When he thought he could land a swing, I was left instead of right, then right instead of left. This merely made him angrier with each passing second until his strength was depleted, and I brought the cold blade across his neck in a quick kill.

Another time, in five minutes I had fled from a burning factory, my arm blistering with a horrible burn and the smell of fire-bitten wool acting like the scent of death clung to me. Those five minutes had seemed endless.

And these five minutes were no different. After what Marcus had said, I blacked out. It was as if my mind had simply got up and wandered free, letting a thousand thoughts and emotions brush pass, unable to latch themselves onto my consciousness.

When the first spots of color bled through my eyes, Marcus was hovering above my face, yelling down at me in distress.

"…by God, Veronica, wake up!" For such a person as himself, he looked terribly frightened and worried. "I shouldn't have told you anything, if I had known…Oh, hey! Hey! You're coming to, that's great!"

He hefted my limp body up, pressing his face near mine. "C'mon, you devil sheep. I know you can hear me."

"Devil sheep? You're running out of material, I believe…" I breathed, the sarcasm effortless.

He frowned. "And you're even spiteful when you're out of it. Now would you mind telling me what that was all about? Here, I'll get you some water…" He picked me up as if I weighed nothing, and laid me carefully on his couch, putting a pillow behind my head.

"Water? Oh God no…Just please tell me where—"

"Still paranoid the water will be poisoned," he ventured, cutting me off quickly. "How many times have people attempted to poison you?"

I sat up, the effort nearly knocking me back to dreamland. "Too many times, I'm afraid. And will you stop cutting me off? I want to know where you heard this!" The way I cried it made me sound like a little brat, but I didn't care. There was a possibility, a _hope_, that Anderson was very much alive.

Marcus scratched the back of his head, frowning slightly. "Ah, well, you see…that's something I can't answer."

I stared at him, baffled and angry all at once. He was a cold-hearted _liar_, and to hell was I going to take his word for it. "Can't? Who issued the gag order on you? I swear to God, that if someone is listening in now…"

For a fraud, he looked rather shocked. "Listening? Heaven's no! It's just…Ok, I didn't hear it from anyone. Truthfully, I had…seen it."

"Seen _it_?" I spat, glowering. "My brother isn't an it."

His worried look melted into an annoyed one. "I didn't mean it like _that_. Listen for a moment, will you?" He cleared his throat, preparing for what would become quite a story.

"So there I was, casually strolling down these fine streets when I see a strange sight. Up ahead was a monastery, and outside lingered a bizarre group of Wesen. Mostly Blutbad's. But among them, walking and laughing as if he belonged, was a _Seelengut_." Each word that spilled from his mouth was said tenderly, as if spoken improperly would cause them to combust or something equally as horrible.

"I mean, not like that's a bad thing. But it's like a lamb being adopted by the wolves, which were hungry and for some odd reason didn't want to eat him." Marcus finished the tale with a twist: when monks got angry and started throwing crosses at them.

Unknowingly, I was playing with the silver cross on my necklace, twirling it around in my palm. "Yes, I'm sure the cross projectiles were terrible, but are you _certain_ you saw a Seelengut among Blutbad? Positive?"

Marcus waved his hand in front of him. "Absolutely. I remember it clearly because I thought I was going mad that night, and awoke after a bar frenzy in a tree, half-naked." He shook his head. "Still can't figure out what happened that day…"

I started at him oddly, wishing that I had heard none of it. "Next time, let's keep that kind of stuff to ourselves, ok?"

"Yeah, ok." But it didn't register, for he was too deep in thought, as if still baffled as to how he ended up in a tree.

...

By chance I had ended up in town on a Sunday, and with a little help from the Internet I was able to locate the nearest parish, some little place run solely by _Seelengut_, to my relief, with a recent catastrophe involving _Bludbad_ that led them to extreme distrust of others.

And so I walked through the brisk night, the freezing temperatures and silence my only companions. After insisting several hundred times I was alright to Marcus, he let me wander where I wanted to.

As soon as I stepped foot inside the building, a sense of protection and comfort filled me. I always felt this way when I entered into a church. They reminded me of the simpler days when Daddy was around and we were forced to know about God.

It was truly a beautiful building, despite its small size and lacking of funds. Stained glass windows cast dull glows on the pews and floor, creating a kaleidoscope of colors. It opened up to a grand speaking area, where a priest stood, slowly cleaning up after the last congregation.

I had walked in so quietly, so calmly, that when he turned he jumped back in fright, clutching his heart. "Ack, so sorry! You frightened me!"

I dipped my head, giving him an apologetic smile. "No, no. I should've have been so quiet. Sorry to disturb you, Father." He nodded, but was clearly wary of what I was doing here so late.

"Is there something I can do for you?" He ventured, adjusting his glasses.

I nodded. "Ah, yes. I seek a confession, for only the eyes of God have seen what I have done and can forgive me."

At this notion, which was an old code, his eyes widened in shock, and he woge'd, turning into a _Seelengut_. "Ver-Veronica! By God, what are you doing here?!" He gasped, quickly blessing himself to ward off what he thought to be evil.

"I thought you'd know me from such. As for why I'm here, in this particular town, I seek a new lead. I know who you deal with, Mortimer. Speak what you know or I will force it." Mortimer was, actually, undercover for some popular underground Wesen group tired of being pushed around. They mostly just sought information, and by God did that have it.

He straightened his coat, frowning at me. "Joyous as always, Veronica. Well I can tell you this: the runt was right, he's alive."

Just hearing it a second time was enough to suck the air out of my lungs. "Your proof?"

Mortimer sighed sadly, cleaning his glasses with the edge of his shirt. "Simply believing and having faith was never enough for you…you always needed proof." He had a sorrowful look in his eyes, as if he had seen many go astray on this notion.

I glowered at him, making it quite clear I wasn't happy. "I can't blindly follow any old statement. Many could get hurt with that."

Mortimer nodded glumly, and glanced behind me slightly, a glimmer shining in his eyes. "That's all I can speak, for it seems you have lured sinners into our hallowed grounds."

In a moment, I understood what he was saying, but it was almost too late.

Someone grabbed me from behind, throwing a black bag over my head, and my world went dark.

((I think you all deserve an update :3 I'm on like ch13 now...so I won't run out of content soon x) But I'm kinda on a writing stand-still. Words don't come as easy anymore...sigh. UGH, I need to go see a movie or watch _Castle in the Sky_ or something. But I'll say this...I simply adore how I wrote the opening. ADORE it. I can't quite figure out why, however...Anyway, enjoy, and Happy Holidays~))


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